From The Wings
by longforlovers
Summary: Throughout West Side Story, Kurt had managed to avoid seeing the scene. You know. The scene. The ending scene. He knew that it was going to break him in all the wrong ways.


**Hi. Hey. Hello.**

**I was on the bus, listening to the West Side Story soundtrack and thinking "Hey, you know what happens in the last scene? You remember when Oliver Phelps was saying about how upset he was over a certain Harry Potter scene? I wonder how Kurt would react to the last scene?" and then I watched the film when I get home because I haven't watched it in a while and, yeah. Here you go.**

**(If you don't know what Harry Potter scene/Oliver Phelps quote I'm talking about, google 'Oliver Phelps Fred scene'. Top link.)**

**Warnings for this fic: Mentions of character death and character's character death. Make sense? Mentions of violence too. They're all in relation to the play.  
>Spoilers: 3x02 if you don't know who was cast as who in West Side Story. And spoilers if you've never seen West Side Story haha.<strong>

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><p>He'd managed to avoid the rehearsals. Whenever Blaine wanted to practice the scene with him in preparation for opening night, he'd make an excuse. <em>Busy tonight. Dad wants me to help out at the garage. I've got too much work to do.<em> He'd gotten out of it. He felt bad and wanted to help Blaine as much as possible but he just... _couldn't_. He'd kept well away from the auditorium when Blaine and Rachel had run through it and he'd even managed to run off to 'the bathroom' during the tech and dress. But it was the opening night. It was Blaine's first show. His time to shine. And Kurt wanted to support his amazing and wonderfully talented boyfriend right until the very last minute.

And that included the final scene.

Kurt stood in the wings, still donning uniform, hat and truncheon. His grip on the solid bat tightened as he glanced over at the list pinned to the wall, informing everyone what scene was coming up next. It was coming up. Now. The bit he'd been dreading since Blaine's name has appeared on the cast list on the notice board. Kurt wasn't denying Blaine's acting. No. Definitely not. The scene would be flawless, just like the one before that and the one before that. Throughout the evening, he felt his chest swelling with pride every single time as his boyfriend executed each line and each movement perfectly, his expressive voice carrying out across the auditorium and through to the audience. Blaine deserved this part. This wasn't about Blaine's acting, because Kurt knew that he was perfect. It was about so much more.

The DVD sat on Kurt's shelf and a signed version of a script from the Broadway show which he'd won on eBay a few years ago was nestled neatly beside it. West Side Story was a favourite of his, no doubt about it. The tragic love story was held dearly in his heart and near the top of his list of 'Kurt Hummel's List of Favourite Things'. So he knew the play, knew it well. Knew how the scene would play out and what would happen and what Blaine would have to do and he just _knew_ how he'd feel about it, how his heart would_break_ at having to watch that happen. It was fictional. It was all acting. But theatre just felt so _real_, like he was there in New York City breaking apart the battling Jets and Sharks as the ever law faithful Officer Krupke. This would feel just as real, regardless of the costumes and the cardboard set and the burning overhead lights and piercing eyes of every single audience member. It was real.

Looking directly across the stage to the other wing, Kurt spotted Blaine, dressed neatly in his tattered (yet rather sexy) tattered rumble costume, who flashed him a grin and a quick thumbs up. Kurt couldn't return it, exactly. A slight smile, a nod. Just to let him know how proud he was and how well he was doing. Blaine couldn't see the emotions flashing across Kurt's open-as-a-book face from where he stood and just blew him a kiss, before switching straight back to Tony, the heart broken killer who was running to his grave. The pain on his face from learning Maria's death struck Kurt right in the chest, like the stab of a sharp, cold switchblade. He watched as Tony ran onto the stage, calling out for Chino. Calling out for Chino to come and end it all for him. To neatly place the bullet through his ribcage. Overwhelmed by emotion, Tony stumbled to the ground and clung to the railing at the side, tears falling fast and steady down his cheeks as he sobbed for his lost love. _Maria... Maria! COME GET ME, CHINO! COME AND GET ME! _Glancing up, Tony spotted Maria from across the basketball court. She was alive and they were going to run away together to live away from the guns and the violence and the _hate_ and they were going to be together. Happy at last. _Maria!_ They ran towards each other, arms outstretched. Everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be- **BANG! **A gunshot rang through the air from the gun held tight in Chino's hands, the bullet tearing into Tony's chest. He crumpled and fell into Maria's arms, grabbing at her before dropping to the ground. Tony had been shot, Tony was dying...

It's not Tony. It's Blaine. It's _Blaine_. And Blaine was laying on the floor with blood through his shirt from the shot wound, his hands clasped tightly into Rachel's dress. Letting out a sob, Kurt bit down on his finger to muffle the sound as he watched the boy he loved dying on the floor before him. It wasn't real. It was fictional. It was theatre. But how could he sit there and watch this? What if something like this _did_ happen to Blaine? What if he had to sit there and watch him die and watch the ghost of a life float away from him? He would be the one in Rachel's (_Maria. It's Maria and Tony. Not Rachel and Blaine... Maria and Tony!_) place, clutching at the boy his heart belonged to, willing him to not give up, not to die, not to leave.

Oh God, how his chest ached. Crying harder, he watched Blaine fight to try and sing Somewhere along with Rachel, the pain and the suffering clear upon his beautiful features but slowly fading as the _life _faded from him. Another tear rolled down Kurt's cheek simultaneously with Rachel's own fake stage tear. He sobbed and looked away as Blaine finally fell still, his head falling gently to the side as the fight to stay ended. As peace overcame him. As he died at the hands of hatred.

_Blaine... please move. Please do something. Remind me that this isn't real. This is theatre, this isn't real... just move, Blaine._

Kurt watched on, paying no attention to Rachel's hysteria as she ran around the stage at the now gathering Jets and Sharks, pointing her gun. Threatening them. Threatening herself. He would be like that. He knew it. If something happened to Blaine, he would be the hysterical lover who just wanted to end it and just wanted the pain to go away. Who just wanted Blaine back.

Blaine's little finger twitched. It wouldn't have been obvious to an audience member or any onlookers but Kurt was looking for it. Was looking for that little sign of life to reassure him that this was just acting. Raking his eyes over Blaine's body, Kurt noticed the slight movement of his chest rising and falling as he fought to remain as still and as lifeless as possible.

Shaking from relief, Kurt wiped the tears on his cheek away as he got ready for his re-entrance, to go take Chino away to jail for the killing and to watch on with pity as an outsider to Rachel's pain, when in fact, he wasn't really an onlooker. He knew exactly how it would feel to him if that boy was truly laying dead there on the floor.

He would laugh about it later on. It would be in the greenroom with the rest of the cast, celebrating the successful opening night with fizzy drinks and packets of crisps, that he would tell Blaine his silly little moment right there in the darkened wing. How he got lost in his acting, got lost in the moment. How he'd temporarily forgotten that it wasn't real and how Blaine was just _playing _the part. They would laugh together at Kurt's stupidity, kiss in a sickeningly sweet fashion as the other guys catcalled and then Blaine would hold him tightly in a way that was amused but in a way that screamed:

_"That will never happen because I'm never, __**ever **__going to leave you."_


End file.
